No Luck Left

Chapter one

        Being a teenage girl, I tend to get asked the age old question, "when are we going to see a boy wrapped around your finger?" If I were to answer them honestly, I would say, "I'm not sure. Maybe whenever boys stop using 'nice tits' as a pick up line." I'm pretty sure saying that would cause a bitch fest though. So I say, "I'm just focusing on school right now." Which is the last thing on my mind. I usually spend the eight hours that I'm at school scrolling through Amazon, spending my parents hard-earned money. In fact, I don't even remember the last time I actively participated or even payed attention in any of my classes.

        I do find myself thinking about "the perfect boy" on sleepless nights, in the shower, at dinner when my parents are talking about work, brushing my teeth...okay, maybe I think about it a lot. It's just too embarrassing to admit because boys aren't shit. Except the false reality of boys in my head, they're excellent. If you're curious, the perfect boy would be simple but complex. He would know how to dress well, how to joke with me without hurting my feelings, and enjoy long walks on the beach. A guy I can be myself around and he'd want to know my darkest fears and my wildest dreams. Someone respectful who would date me if I were a worm. Sadly, boys like that don't exist and if they do, I've never met one. The ones who aren't flat out disrespectful and rude, don't understand that there's more to a relationship than not being mean to me. If anything, that's the bare minimum.

        Which is why I never let people set me up with anyone. My family hasn't caught onto that just yet, and this is where my story begins. Every year on December 24th, we invite my dad's sister, Lilian over for dinner. She's an author, a professor, and a "motivational" speaker, so she's hardly available during any other time of the year. I kid you not, my dad called her to invite her to a barbecue last summer and she answered the phone with, "I can't talk now, Jason, I'm about to give a TedTalk.". Now, don't get the wrong impression, we are more than happy that she's super successful, but we are also more than happy that we only have deal with her once a year. To put it simply, she's a bitch.

Usually, at this annual dinner, she focuses on one person to torment and degrade. She says, "Well, you're my family and I'd be a monster to not want you to be the best version of yourself. I am simply trying to help you." Because we're not assholes, we smile and nod, with no intentions change whatever she was bitching about. My family isn't larger either. My mom, my dad, myself, and my little brother, typically rotate yearly. It's an ongoing joke amongst us that she writes down who she "helped" every year so she knows who to do next. This year, I was lucky enough to be the victim of her relentless comments.

    "Nova, the way you're eating is not very lady-like."  We all sat up straight, realizing that it was me who'd be crying after dinner this year. My mom gave me a sympathetic smile, and it gave me the courage to look my aunt in the eyes. "Yeah, it's because she's got cranberry sauce dripping down her chin!" My brother giggled. "Ethan!" My dad whispered, his eyes getting wide, letting him know now is not the time. My brother's face dropped as he sunk into his chair. He's only eleven, so I let it go pretty quickly. He's just recently caught onto the fact that Aunt Lilian isn't a good person and we don't enjoy having her around. I picked up the cloth napkin I had on my lap and wiped my mouth, turning toward Ethan, making a face that said "I'm laughing too". I probably looked like a clown and the thought amused me.

"No, Ethan, you're right," My Aunt Lilian said, sticking her nose into the air, "Your sister chews with her mouth open. Very unattractive. Now I know why you don't have a boyfriend. It also makes me wonder what normal family dinners look like in this house." I looked around at all we had done to please her. We were eating on the finest China we could find (because she complains if it's the same set we used the previous year), we were all in our Sunday best (my dad and brother with sweaters tucked into khakis, showing off the fact that they were both wearing belts, and parted hair with enough gel that I could see my reflection, and me and my mom with knee length dresses, a baby heel, light makeup, and our hair slicked back into a low bun, a can of hairspray in each hairdo), the house as clean as possible, not a single thing out of place. I think she'd have cow if she walked into a regular Monday night dinner.